


On the Road Again

by DasMervin, MrsHyde (DasMervin)



Series: The Writing on the Wall [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Castiel, Alternate Universe, Apologies, Awesome Dean, Bitchy Castiel, Bitchy Dean, Bobby is an awesome dad, Bobby puts up with so much crap, Caretaking, Cas is a dork, Cockblocking Castiel - Freeform, Cool Dean, Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean is a sap, Dean is an asshole, Destiel - Freeform, Emotions, Explicit Language, F/M, Family Feels, Father Figures, Father's Day, Father-Son Relationship, Feelings, Fondling, Gen, Genderless Castiel, Headcanon, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hugs, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt No Comfort, Hypochondriac Castiel, Impotence, Jody is an awesome mom, Jody is in charge, Kissing, Loneliness, Love, M/M, Making Out, Nature, Oblivious Castiel, Panicking Dean, Panicky Cas, Peace Offerings, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Reunions, Scared Dean, Serious Injuries, Sick Castiel, Silent Treatment, Slash, Sweet Castiel, discussion of sex, surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/DasMervin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/MrsHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another catch-all collection of ficlets, one-shots, and asides, much in the spirit of “Good Times, Bad Times.” Somewhat less porny than the other post-script fics (but not entirely).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Free and Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! This is pretty much just like “[Good Times, Bad Times](http://archiveofourown.org/works/956334)” in the sense that it is just a catch-all for the slices of life, little funnies, and extras we’ve dreamed up. The difference, however, is that these don’t really follow a timeline.
> 
> As we’ve continued to write the story, we have been dreaming up more and more moments we want to write. Most of them are just little things that we think are funny or things that add to the universe because we are obsessed with fleshing things out. This little archive is going to have a couple of alternate POV fics to ones that are already posted, a couple of reader requests, expansion on things you guys liked, things like that.
> 
> We’re not going to give very many of these a timestamp, but will occasionally give you the general date they took place in relation to the other fics in the series.
> 
> To start us off, why don’t we have a little more Jody? We figured she’d be a good way to open up this box of odds and ends, so the first two are going to be from her POV, even though they are kind of centered around Cas. This first one took place in that long, two-year stretch between “[Easy on My Soul](http://archiveofourown.org/works/969820/chapters/1922517)” and “[Burning Sky](http://archiveofourown.org/works/984130)” Enjoy!
> 
> Mervin

Out of the many oddities that Jody had witnessed since finding out about Bobby Singer’s night-job, it was the harmless ones that Castiel often thrust upon her that weirded her out the most.

His little peculiarities weren’t _nearly_ as strange or horrifying as anything supernatural she’d seen, of course. Cas wandering around naked, Cas sitting at a desk and staring at a moth on the wall for nearly five minutes straight without blinking, the way he always had to have the forks and spoons face the exact same way in the silverware drawer, the intense way he would look at Dean sometimes—they weren’t really creepy or anything at all. But because they were coming from Castiel…that was what _made_ them odd. Because he was _the_ Castiel—the cult leader who made Charles Manson look like a tenth-rate used car salesman and who was responsible for the deaths of thousands. She knew him now, and knew he was harmless and just… _goofy_ more than anything, but it didn’t matter. The boys seemed to treat him like just another hunter and Bobby treated him like a live-in maid, but were still some days where Jody couldn’t help but look at him cautiously and wonder if he was planning something new and was just biding his time while he waited for his next opportunity to wreak havoc.

But on the other hand, despite the fact that seeing one of the Fed’s most wanted acting like such a dork was disconcerting, it was also a relief. Because while it might have weirded her out in light of who Cas was, it also made it more than clear that he was…well, _harmless_.

Like right now. Coming down the stairs wearing an ankle-length red plaid nightgown with a lacy collar and cuffs.

When Bobby’s jaw had dropped mid-sentence and his face turned the color of old bricks, Jody had known it would be Cas behind her; only he could make Bobby go apoplectic that fast. She’d turned around and yes, there he was, padding down the stairs. His descent was almost entirely silent, save for the quiet creak of the stairs, because he was wearing thick socks, but she’d barely noticed them—no, she’d been very distracted by the nightgown. The _woman’s_ nightgown. Specifically, it was a nightgown that an old lady would wear—a long-sleeved flannel muumuu. All that were missing were curlers in his hair and glasses on a chain. As usual, Cas showed supreme unconcern about his state of dress as he made his way to the cabinet where Bobby kept all of his trashy romance novels.

Bobby found his voice first. “What the _hell_ , Cas?!” he barked, only sounding a little choked.

Cas started and stopped in his tracks. Bobby didn’t let him try to talk, instead flapping a hand in his direction. “What—Cas, what _is_ that?!” he demanded, and Cas just stared at him, concerned _now_ and looking wary as well. Bobby stared at him, then glanced wildly at Jody and back to Cas again. Jody, deciding that somebody needed rescuing here (though she wasn’t sure who), cleared her throat.

“Cas…I think Bobby’s talking about your, uh, nightclothes,” she said delicately.

Cas just glanced down at himself, still looking utterly confused. “I…it’s my nightgown and socks,” he said slowly.

Bobby still seemed to be at a loss, as he was just about every time Cas had decided to surprise Jody with his choice of attire (though she was rather glad it was actual attire this time rather than a lack thereof), so Jody continued. “Well…I think that’s meant for a woman.”

Cas just stared at her. “Why? Men can wear long nightgowns like this; they’re very comfortable and warm,” he informed her. “It’s too cold not to wear clothes in my room right now, but with this on I can stay warm but still don’t have to wear any underwear.”

Bobby made a rather inhuman noise behind her, and she was briefly tempted to turn around and make sure he wasn’t choking. Her lips twitching a little, Jody nodded. “You got me there, Cas. Whatever makes you happy.”

“It does,” Cas said, sounding a bit lofty, and then continued his journey to the cabinet.

Bobby suddenly found his voice. “Don’t ever wear that when Dean’s here!” he suddenly burst, making Cas jump again. “Don’t—don’t _ever_. In fact, _hide it_. Don’t let him see you have that, got me?”

Cas looked confused again, but nodded anyway. “All right,” he agreed, and then, after a moment of searching through the titles, selected one of the paperbacks and went right back upstairs. After a few seconds, they heard his door close.

A loud _thunk_ made Jody turn to face Bobby again, and she saw that he’d just let his head fall forward against the table. “Sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “That little bastard…why does he _always_ do that shit when _you’re_ here?”

Jody couldn’t hold it any longer—she just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, as you can see from all of the fics in this series written from Dean’s POV, Cas has done an _excellent_ job of hiding his muumuu.


	2. Mother Knows Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second Jody fic. This takes place around or after “[Ready for Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1003338)” near the end of Cas’s extreme hypochondria phase.
> 
> Mervin

The guys down at the station really were a bunch of old hens, Jody had just about decided. She couldn’t take a half-day now without them giving her sidelong glances and gossiping about it around the water cooler.

Didn’t really matter that she’d been more or less seeing Bobby for a while now—they weren’t actually married or anything, and he did have a reputation in this town, so she guessed the Sheriff making time with him would always catch their interest. But did they really have to be so damned chatty about it? So she was seeing Bobby. It wasn’t any of their business. The vets in the department knew that he wasn’t just the town drunk, and while they didn’t talk about monsters, she knew they kept any rookies who weren’t there for the spring of 2010 off his back, so she really didn’t see why everyone at the department was _still_ so damn nosy about it. That wasn’t why she’d taken the half-day, anyway. She hadn’t even _gotten_ the idea to swing by and see Bobby until she was headed out the door.

She snorted to herself as she pulled into Bobby’s drive. It really was ridiculous—the whole thing.

Jody typically didn’t drop in unannounced; Bobby’s day job tended to make surprise visits a little inconvenient, as nobody ever knew just how busy he’d be with some new monster. However, the few times Jody had stopped by without calling first, Bobby was still happy to have her. And if he was busy, Jody would just run out and buy him a new six-pack—or maybe help Cas clean house and make dinner.

After she did her usual two-ring on the doorbell, she waited patiently for Bobby to answer, staring idly out at a few puffs of clouds off on the horizon (she did have her own key, but she always liked to announce herself in case something ugly was going on in there). She quickly turned when the doorknob rattled, and was warmly smiling by the time it swung open.

“Hey, Bobby,” she greeted him.

Bobby looked pleasantly surprised to see her. “Oh—hey, Jody. What brings you ‘round these parts?”

“Free time,” she replied. “I’m done for the day—been working up a little too much overtime on strange cases,” she added, giving him a pointed look.

Bobby snorted, and then glanced behind him. “Well, wish you would’ve called ahead—‘fraid I’m not gonna be much by way of entertainment.” He scowled. “I’m havin’ to play nurse.”

Jody’s brow furrowed. “Oh? Who’s down?”

“Cas.” Bobby’s scowl somehow deepened. “He gets the goddamn flu _every_ year, first of the season, and he never kids around with it. Fever of a hundred and one, coughing up a couple pounds of snot, achy, soundin’ like he swallowed glass, and whiny as _hell_.”

Jody snorted. “You know, there is a wonderful invention called a _flu shot_ ,” she said dryly.

Now it was Bobby’s turn to snort. “Don’t you talk down to me, woman. I tried that once—and he got the flu anyway, worse than the last year; his fever got so bad I had to stick him in a tepid bath, which is always just _such_ a walk in the park with him. I had to put up with him wailin’ the whole time that I’d killed him, blamin’ me _and_ the damn shot for it, and now he refuses to get another one,” Bobby growled at her, and then he sighed. “So…yeah, you may as well head back out. Don’t want you gettin’ it either—and you definitely don’t want to have to listen to his pissin’ and moanin’.”

Jody gave him a stern look. “Bobby, I swear—do you even listen to yourself?”

“What?” Bobby said defensively.

“Cas is obviously really sick and all you’re doing is complaining that it’s putting you out.” She sighed and raised her eyes skyward. “You stay here. Keep him warm and I’ll be back.”

“What’re you doin’?” Bobby demanded.

“None of your business,” she returned smartly. “See you in a few.”

* * *

Jody had to resist the urge to roll her eyes when Bobby answered the door upon her return looking all suspicious. Instead, she just raised the sack in her hand. “Just went out to buy some medicine, something you clearly neglected to have around for him while he’s sick,” she said by way of greeting.

Bobby scowled. “I’m _givin’_ him medicine. He gets it every six hours—”

He stopped when she patiently pulled out a can of chicken soup. “Not that kind,” she smirked.

“I’m feedin’ him,” Bobby grunted.

“Pork and beans, I’ll bet—not the kind of stuff you need when you’ve got the flu,” Jody said, and then just charged in, brushing past him and heading for the stairs after depositing her bag on the kitchen table.

She knew Bobby was following her up as she went into Cas’s room, and she thought that was fine—after all, if he was around, she could send him to go get anything else Cas might need. So she didn’t hesitate and just opened up Cas’s door, swinging into the room.

The sight of the little huddled ball under a mountain of blankets right in the middle of the bed was enough to make her heart give a little squeeze. Even from here, she could hear his rasping breath, the poor guy. Quietly, she made her way over to his bed, detouring around the trashcan that was overflowing with twists of used tissues.

“Cas?” she said softly. “You awake, honey?”

For a moment, nothing happened. But then— “Jody?”

His voice was so pitifully weak—no way she could resist that. It pushed all of her mom buttons. “Hey,” she replied, still quiet, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him as the blankets slowly moved while Cas feebly tried to fight his way out of them. “I heard you were sick. Yearly flu, huh?” she said sympathetically.

Cas finally managed to poke his head out, shivering and looking miserably up at her. “Yes,” he managed to rasp. “I think I’m dying. Bobby says I’m not, but he can’t know that for sure.”

Jody couldn’t help but smile—between that and Bobby’s irritated snort behind her, this was somehow adorably funny. She reached down and stroked Cas’s sweat-damp hair. “Well, I do. You’re not dying—it’s just flu. You’ll be okay, and I’ll help you get better. You hungry?”

Cas blinked slowly, slinking down under his blankets again until all Jody could see were his eyes and tip of his very red nose. “I—” Jody waited patiently while Cas had another coughing fit. “A little,” he finally whispered.

“Good,” Jody said. “I have something that will feel really good on your throat. I’m gonna go make it for you. You just rest, okay?” She petted his hair again and, upon feeling him shiver, turned to Bobby. “Go get another couple of blankets,” she ordered.

“He’s got five already!” Bobby protested.

Jody narrowed her eyes. “Robert,” she said warningly.

Bobby glared right back at her, but went stomping off for the stairs, muttering darkly the whole way. Once his voice was out of earshot, she turned to the person who mattered. “You like chicken noodle soup?” she asked gently.

She felt Cas nod under her fingers.

“I’m gonna make you some of that, and I’ll bring you up some orange juice and hot tea.”

“I don’t…usually drink tea,” he mumbled, so quiet she had to strain to hear him.

“This is good tea,” she answered. “Special kind—it’ll help you sleep.”

Cas burrowed deeper into his blankets. “All right.”

Jody smiled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, then, okay?” She got to her feet again, careful not to jostle him too much, and started towards the doorway just as Bobby came clomping back into view, his arms full of blankets and a black look on his face.

Jody gave him another glare as she took the pile from him. “You be nice, Bobby,” she admonished as she turned back to spread the afghans on top of the shivering lump on the bed, ignoring Bobby’s grumbling. “You sit tight, Cas,” she said. “Bobby and I are going to make you some lunch.”

Cas peeped out from under his blankets. “Bobby said he was too busy.”

Jody pursed her lips at the sound of the guilty shuffling in the doorway behind her. “Well, he’s gonna help me now, if he knows what’s good for him,” she said as she stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

She gave Bobby a dirty look as she left the room; he didn’t say anything and just meekly followed her downstairs. He set to work heating Cas’s soup like she told him to, although she did catch a sour expression on his face as they worked. Jody ignored it, just popped a mug of water in the microwave to make her favorite sleepytime tea, adding a little shot of honey and lemon after it steeped.

Bobby didn’t have a good TV-tray, so after she poured a helping of soup into another mug, she made him carry it and a package of Saltines while she took the tea and a glass of juice.

Cas hadn’t moved from where she’d left him; she set her cups down on Cas’s bedside table and directed Bobby to do the same. “Cas, can you sit up?”

He looked up at her with rheumy eyes, and then slowly started to struggle into a sitting position. She helped him get his pillows propped up against the headboard so he could lean back and stay under his blankets. Once he was situated, she coaxed him to bring his hands out of his blankets so he could grip his cup of soup. “Here you go,” she said, curling his fingers around it. “This’ll help warm you up.”

Cas was blinking like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, but he wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic of the mug and obediently took a small drink. After he swallowed, he hesitantly said, “Thank you.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome—chicken soup is always best when you’re sick. Now, you just drink that down,” she instructed, “and when you’re done, you should drink your juice for the vitamin C, and then the tea will be warm and good for your throat.” She turned to where Bobby was scowling in the doorway. “What meds have you been giving him?”

“NyQuil,” he grunted. “It’s probably time for another dose.”

“Well, you go get that—do you have any cough drops or Vicks?”

Bobby grimaced. “Oh, now you’re gonna make me grease him up, too? I’ve already done time in that barrel—he can just do it himself.”

She glared. “No, I’ll do it, you big baby. Just go get everything and I’ll take care of it. Is there anything else you need, Cas?”

Cas blinked slowly at her, and appeared to be halfway through a shake of his head when he suddenly paused, swallowing a little and coughing once before whispering, “My…nose hurts. Could I have some lotion?”

“Of course you can,” Jody said warmly before turning back to Bobby. “Get some lotion for his nose, too, if you have it. Men,” she snorted as Bobby glowered at her before he stumped off towards the bathroom. Cas was looking at her over the rim of his cup with those big pathetic eyes of his, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t you mind him,” she told Cas, patting his knee under his blankets. “I’ll take care of you—you just concentrate on getting better.”

Cas nodded and took another gulp of his soup. Jody opened his crackers for him, and then couldn’t help the small snicker that escaped her when she heard what sounded like Bobby knocking something over in the bathroom and then swearing at it. He appeared shortly after and just dumped the bottle of NyQuil, an ancient pot of Vicks, a three-year-old bag of cough drops, and a bottle of hand lotion on the end of the bed, and then just left, grousing the whole way.

Honestly. She knew Bobby was a clever and determined hunter and, just from Bobby’s behavior, that was well aware that considered himself to be Cas’s adoptive father, but he was patently no nurse.

* * *

_Six months later…_

“For the last time, Cas, _I’m not callin’ Jody_!”

“But I’m _sick_!”

“Goddammit, I’m not callin’ her so she can come baby you just ‘cause you have _the shits_! Get your ass back upstairs and just take the Pepto like I told you to!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas has always had brothers, and he’s even had a real (if absent) father…but he’s never had a mom.


	3. Sweet Child of Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of all of the little comedic ficlets we write just to flesh out the ‘verse, it’s kinds like these that you guys seem to love the most.
> 
> This tidbit occurred in between the “[Little Angel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1008134)” and “[Holy Water](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1015973)” storylines.
> 
> Mervin

These days, if Bobby came into a room and found Cas sitting at a table and looking thoughtful, he didn’t pay much attention to it. Cas did that all of the time; he loved to just sit around and contemplate life’s mysteries, near as Bobby could tell. Sometimes he looked concerned while he did it, his eyebrows all furrowed and whatnot, but Bobby never asked him about it unless it looked like it was serious. Cas tended to get that concerned look over just about anything, and most of the time, it wasn’t actually any kind of problem. Cas was just determined to _make_ it a problem. Bobby wasn’t about to get involved in any more of his made-up drama than he had to, thank you very much.

So, that morning when he came downstairs for breakfast and coffee, he didn’t acknowledge Cas’s thoughtful look. He just wanted some cereal and caffeine. If Cas had a problem, he’d voice it.

Bobby was settling down at the table to enjoy his breakfast when Cas decided to speak.

“Bobby? May I ask you a question about human sexual behavior?” he asked politely.

 _Oh, God_ , Bobby groaned internally, bowing his head and taking a deep breath. Cas hadn’t asked a question like _that_ in a while—the last one had been if it was normal for an orgasm to be painful if it happened rapidly after the first one (Bobby had told him no, and told him not to let Dean do that to him again, he didn’t friggin’ care if Cas was the one who asked for it because Dean should know better). As always, Bobby wanted to tell him _hell_ no, but he wasn’t gonna do that to him.

“Yeah, what is it?” he tiredly replied. _It’s too early in the morning for this._

“Is it normal behavior for humans to refer to each other as infants during sex?”

Bobby stared, his eyes wide and at a complete loss for words.

Since Bobby wasn’t talking, Cas decided to continue. “I have observed a great many humans having sex,” he said blithely, “and I have seen many variations on that theme, but Dean only did it to me recently. He never has before, and I wasn’t sure how to respond—I wanted to ask you if it’s considered normal sexual behavior or if it qualifies as a ‘fetish’, and if there is a custom or appropriate response that I’m not aware of.”

Bobby forced himself to snap out of it, mostly to avoid any more TMI on Cas’s part. “Okay,” he said very deliberately. “I want—no, I _need_ you to back up and tell me…” Bobby sighed and ground his teeth together because he did _not_ want to ask this, “…exactly what was goin’ on and… _exactly_ what Dean said.”

Bobby didn’t want to hear the answer—at all. Ever. But Cas didn’t know that, because he never did, and because he had no concept of privacy or shame, he very matter-of-factly told him.

“We were having intercrural sex—Dean was the active partner, having sex with my thighs as he stimulated my penis with his hand,” he said seriously. “He was approaching orgasm when he said, ‘Fuck, oh fuck, shit yes, baby, oh fuck, Cas’—”

“Okay, _stop_!” Bobby barked, slapping his hand flat on the table and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t know what was worse—the fact that he now knew what Dean said while he got off, or the deadpan way Cas had just _said_ all of that in the first place.

Rubbing his eyes and not looking at Cas, Bobby finally answered, “Dean…wasn’t calling you an _infant_. That’s not…that’s not what ‘baby’ means during sex like that. It was…an endearment. You know.” He cast around for an appropriate comparison that the moron in front of him would understand, and then noticed the paperback novel on the table in front of him. “Kind of how the heroes in the romance novels call the women ‘darling’.”

Cas lit up like a lightbulb, looking way, _way_ too pleased about that answer, and then a sudden, horrible thought popped into Bobby’s head. “But you shouldn’t ever call Dean that,” he said forcefully. “Only he can call you that. Dean…Dean wouldn’t like it if _you_ called him ‘baby’. He’s…not into that.”

“I understand,” Cas said, nodding dreamily, and then settled in with his toast and orange juice, looking dippy and content.

Bobby sighed, taking a fortifying slug of his coffee. Bein’ a hunter wasn’t nobody’s idea of a dream job, but he’d take it any day over bein’ Cas’s personal sex-counselor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean does not consciously call Cas “baby”, btw. He just slips up and says it during the heat of the moment sometimes, usually when he’s feeling particularly loving.


	4. Splendor in the Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place in the summer the same year as “[Patience](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1285513/chapters/2664601)” and “[Many Happy Returns](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1113115/chapters/2603938)”.
> 
> Mervin

Dean gave a half-hearted kind of salute to Sam and Bobby as they pulled away in one of Bobby’s junkier junk cars, and then set off towards the woods. Bobby needed to run to town for a few errands, but he’d sprained his wrist last week wrangling with a car. Bobby of course just would have blown it off and driven all over town with his wrist out anyway, but seriously, at his age he shouldn’t do that shit. But that meant that since they were home, he or Sam were gonna have to be in charge of ferrying him around for the duration. Dean always did the driving on the job, so Sam could take the first shift. So now he and Bobby were off to the hardware store and were just gonna pick up an early dinner, beer, and pie while they were out. That left Dean to clear off the table, Sam had informed him. Dean hadn’t agreed to that at all, so he was gonna go around his plot to make him play maid service—he was gonna make Cas do it.

He and Sam had rolled in about three hours ago unannounced, and Dean hadn’t seen Cas the whole time. Any time he knew they were coming home, Cas would have finished whatever he was working on and be waiting for them, but if they arrived without warning he’d likely be in the middle of whatever cleaning or home-improvement project Bobby had him on. This time, however, they seemed to have arrived in the middle of Cas’s free time; he was in that dumb garden of his. Dean had been ready to call him inside, but Bobby’d told him to leave him alone—apparently, he’d gone back there early in the morning with a whole bunch of new plants, and when he got that involved, he didn’t want to be disturbed. By that, Bobby meant that if you _did_ disturb him, Cas would get all pissy about how his precious posies needed to be put in the ground _immediately_ and no amount of telling him that they’d been sitting just fine in their tiny pots at the store and could handle a few more hours would make him budge. Least that’s what happened when Bobby did it.

Well, Cas was gonna have to deal with being interrupted this time, ‘cause if he didn’t come inside, he wouldn’t eat.

As Dean trudged along the worn path to the edge of the trees, he found himself wondering just what Cas had set up back there. Cas had told him about it and Dean had made the appropriate noises, but it wasn’t like gardening was really his thing, so he honestly had no idea what he was up to. Bobby had once called it the Hanging Gardens of Babylon (and Cas had said that was nonsense, because his garden was nowhere near that big), so he couldn’t help but be a little curious about it. Not curious enough to go out and investigate, though. Not only was it way the hell on the backside of Bobby’s five acres, but Dean generally kept out of Cas’s hobbies because they were fucking girly. Cooking, cleaning, crocheting, reading those stupid romance novels, _gardening_ —Jesus. Between that and the fact that Dean wasn’t really the type to sit out and commune with nature, he’d never felt the urge to go traipsing around in Cas’s flowers like a big hippie. He’d leave that to Cas (so long as Cas didn’t take it _too_ far).

The walk really wasn’t that far, and it wasn’t like he was having to track through all kinds of long grass and brambly stuff, and soon he was pushing through a large bush in the way of the path—and then he jumped a mile when what had to be a _flock_ of birds all took off at once, obviously startled when Dean had shoved the leaves aside to come through. But Dean’s surprise over that loud and unexpected noise wore off rather quickly when he suddenly realized exactly what Bobby had meant when he’d called this place the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

Christ, it looked like—Dean didn’t know what it looked like. It was obscene, whatever it was, and proof that Cas had way too much time on his hands. There were flowers and bushes and shrubs and grass _everywhere_. There were a few trellises set up, homemade, obviously, and more plants and vines dripped from them almost to the ground. There were plant hangers dangling baskets of greenery, creepers and vines and stuff tangled all over the ground with big wads of flowers poking up out of them. But there was no pattern to any of it; it looked like Cas had just grabbed a bag of mixed seeds and thrown them everywhere.

And speaking of Cas…

“Dean—I didn’t know you were home,” he said, sounding positively overjoyed, and Dean finally stopped staring at the scenery and found Cas, sitting on the ground, obviously having just paused where he’d planting something—and he was wearing the _stupidest_ wide-brimmed, floppy straw hat Dean had ever seen, along with a pair of shiny, reflective aviator sunglasses to go with the tiny smudges of dirt on his face and what looked like a few remnants of white zinc oxide sun cream on his nose. All of that almost distracted him from the rapturous expression Cas was currently wearing.

Dean coughed and shook himself, struggling to hold back laughter at the ridiculous image Cas made as he picked his way over to him. “Uh, yeah—we rolled in a couple of hours ago.”

“Why didn’t you come and get me?” Cas asked, sounding almost scolding about it as he brushed himself off.

“Bobby said not to bother you—you were plantin’ or something.”

Cas scowled up at him. “I would’ve stopped. The plants could’ve waited,” he groused.

Dean did laugh then—just a small snort, though. “Oh, really,” he said dryly. “I thought they needed to be put in soil _as soon as possible_ to help minimize possible shock,” he continued.

Cas gave him a semi-sour look, which was undermined by his idiotic hat and shades. “I would have wanted to see you, Dean. The plants could have waited for a few minutes; you haven’t been home in a while,” he replied.

Well, leave it to Cas to take the fun out of any situation. Dean shifted uncomfortably, staring at the garden instead of at Cas, because he was ignoring the fact that Cas was right. The Mark had ridden them hard the past month, not letting them rest at all, but the whole time makin’ him miss home something fierce. Again. It was just like the last time, when he’d been driven out and only gotten home on his birthday. He’d wanted to be _home_ , and the Mark had known it, and so had said, “No, you can’t have a home, because fuck you.”

But he was home now. And he was with Cas—Cas, looking so stupid in front of him, giving him a petulant scowl because nobody had bothered to call him inside when Dean had arrived at Bobby’s front door.

For a second or two, Dean just stared at him, stared at the dumbass in front of him with that idiotic floppy hat and those ridiculous aviators and that dirt on his face.

And then it hit him just how much he’d missed…not home, but _Cas_.

He didn’t care that they were outside. They were hidden—and Bobby and Sam were gone. And he didn’t want to wait.

Cas’s brow furrowed when Dean looked carefully all around before hunkering down on his knees in front of him, but that confusion cleared right up when Dean just reached for him, because he just had to _feel_ Cas right friggin’ now. He glanced to his left, and then decided that would work—he half-pulled and half-pushed Cas over to the huge vines wrapped around what looked like an old dead tree, the two of them shuffling along on their knees and getting dirt and grass all over their pants. But when they got over by the tree, Dean found that he had severely underestimated the vine’s size, and was a little startled when he sank right into it, the leaves closing around them both. Well, all the better—now _no one_ could see them.

Dean wiggled around until he was surrounded by the vines and then leaned in to kiss Cas, kiss him like he so wanted to, because dammit, he’d _missed_ him, but he got a face full of hat brim instead. Grumbling to himself, he reached up and yanked that hat off, throwing it away from them. For good measure, he pulled off Cas’s shades, too, and tossed them in the general direction of the hat. Finally, he got what he wanted—Cas’s mouth against his own.

He got his arms around him, pulling Cas close as he settled against the rough bark of the tree. Cas went wherever Dean led him, sighing contentedly as Dean kissed him and reaching up to cup his jaw. Dean let him; he normally wasn’t into that shit, but right now, all he wanted was to feel and be felt back.

 _God, I’m such a puss_ , he thought disgustedly.

He felt Cas open his mouth in invitation, and Dean took him up on it, tasting him and loving it (even if he thought he tasted a little dirt, because that was Cas, too). And he kept it up, stroking Cas’s back and down to his butt, giving him a light squeeze before trailing his hand back up and getting it into Cas’s hair, tilting his head just right, and it was really annoying how happy all of this was making him.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he sat there and just made out with Cas under a friggin’ tree, but Cas eventually pulled away and tucked himself up close, his breath warm on Dean’s throat. “I’m happy you’re home,” he whispered, his voice muffled.

Dean cleared his throat a little. “Yeah. I am, too.” And he was. Dammit. He could be happy to be home if he wanted to.

“Do you know how long you’ll be here?”

“No,” Dean answered with a little shake of his head. “You know how it works. I…wanna be home for a bit, but, well…”

Cas got it, as evidenced by the way his grip tightened on Dean. He snorted even as he returned the favor, giving Cas a little squeeze. Then they were both quiet, and all Dean could hear was the rustling of the leaves and the buzz of insects and Cas’s slow, even breaths.

Well. Maybe it was stupid and shit, but Dean couldn’t deny that he was very, very comfortable out here, buried in a plant with Cas draped across him. In fact, he could probably spend a good long while like this. But that wasn’t happening—no way that was an option, what with Sam and Bobby only out on a supply run. They’d probably be back soon.

Dean was irritated at how much he did _not_ want to move. What the hell was wrong with him, bein’ all girly with Cas out in a bunch of flowers? This was bullshit.

 _Nobody can see it_ , some part of his brain insisted stubbornly. _So it’s _fine_._

The sound of Cas’s voice jerked him out of his internal fussing. “Dean…” Cas murmured against his neck, nuzzling him as he reached up to press his palm against Dean’s breastbone, and just like that, he couldn’t help it—he reached up and grabbed Cas’s hand, holding it where it was even as he nudged his head up so he could kiss him again, sighing hugely when they stopped again.

Fine. So he was bein’ stupid and girly. But love made you dumb, and Dean was…

He shifted, not completing the thought. He knew what he was; no need to _dwell_ on it.

Dean only allowed himself a few more minutes of whatever the hell this was, occasionally kissing Cas softly or nibbling a little at his neck. Then he decided it was time to start thinking about getting a move on.

“Sam and Bobby’ll be back soon,” Dean mumbled against Cas’s throat.

“Where did they go?” Cas asked softly, not moving.

“To get food—pizza. You hungry?”

“Yes. I’ve been gardening all day.”

Dean coughed. “Well, it looks…nice. Out here.”

“Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence again, but Dean refused to let it last more than ten seconds. _Sam and Bobby—come on. Get up._

With way more reluctance than Dean was comfortable with, he jostled Cas a little, giving him a bit of a push so he’d get the message and get up. And he did, and he looked even more hesitant and disappointed that the moment was over than Dean was. But he got up, pulling away from the vines and gently pushing them back so Dean could fight his way out of them, too. He swatted a bee away from him as he finally got to his feet, and he stared at Cas for a moment, looked at how content and happy he looked, with that dirt still on his face and his hair all limp from where it’d been under that hat all day.

_Fuck._

He reached out and pulled Cas against him again, meaning it this time, his arms tight around him as he just kissed the hell out of him. Cas clung back, and by the time Dean was done, Cas was lightly panting, his eyes huge and starry.

And that was enough of _that_ , thank you. Dean suddenly realized he’d just made out with Cas in a goddamned flower garden. Yeah, he was _so_ done.

Grabbing the tail of his shirt to wipe off any dirt or white crap he might have on him, he turned, gesturing vaguely at Cas and clearing his throat. “Come on—you gotta clear and set the table for dinner.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said dreamily, and he followed him back to Bobby’s, practically floating the whole way.

_Dumbass._


	5. The Good Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s another ficlet for ya. After all of Cas’s sleazy behavior, we figured this would be a nice respite from it. :P Yeah, he’s a sleaze and a snake, but then he has to go and do stuff like this.
> 
> This is set after “[Hot Shot Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1150387/chapters/2337978)” but before “[Bad Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1150387/chapters/2356734)”.
> 
> Mervin

Bobby sighed heavily as he rubbed at his eyes, wiping away the last crusty remnants of sleep and trying to clear his muzzy head.

Dammit. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep at all. That just made him madder. _Stupid angel_ , he grumbled to himself, looking down blearily and spotting the book he’d been determined to read flopped open on his chest. He picked it up and closed it, setting it down on his nightstand. Then he fell right back on the pillow, his eyes closed, as he struggled to wake up.

He didn’t like just taking naps for their own sake, and for this very reason—because he never woke up from one refreshed. If he’d been up all night workin’ hard, then fine, takin’ a few hours would keep him going for another ten. But he wasn’t tired, he hadn’t been working much today, and there wasn’t any reason for it. But no, Cas had been belligerent, _making_ him go take a nap. “You didn’t sleep well last night,” he’d lectured prissily, and Bobby had just told him that he didn’t sleep well _any_ night, but Cas had bitched at him until he’d gone upstairs. And no, Bobby _hadn’t_ intended to sleep—he’d intended to _read_ , just to spite the little bastard.

Yeah. That’d gone well.

Worst part was, Bobby knew Cas hadn’t sent him up here out of the goodness of his heart. No, Cas was Up To Something. He’d been Up To Something _all week_. And Bobby did _not_ like that.

He knew from years of experience that when Cas was Up To Something, it meant bad news for everybody involved. Once Cas started plotting and manipulating, he wouldn’t stop until he had all of the pieces on the board arranged exactly to his liking and everything would turn out just how he wanted it—usually in a way that best benefited him, the scheming little slime. Like back when he was still pretty new to the human gig and had figured out that he just had to turn on the big eyes and the big lip like he was having a depressive fit and Bobby would cave and let him stop working and have cookies. Or how any time he was sick, he would find ways to call Jody up about a case, and when she heard how pitiful he was over the phone she would come over and baby him. Or more recently, like when he’d set Sam up with Amy the first time and sent Bobby to Jody’s just so he could laid. Or his latest fit—laying down in Bobby’s doorway and refusing to move because Bobby wouldn’t let him go on a hunt with Dean.

That combined with everything else he’d done for that little debacle, and Bobby’d been ready to kick the little shit in the ribs a few times before telling him to get up and get his ass out of his house.

Bobby sometimes hated that little schemer. He supposed he should be more forgiving—after all, his scheming was now no longer on a global scale. That, and he’d been doing it for billions of years—old habits died hard and all. But Bobby didn’t care—now his scheming was limited to three people, and he was one of the main players. That runt was _always_ playing him and trying to plot against him and figure out ways to make Bobby do what _Cas_ wanted.

And it galled Bobby to know that Cas’d probably succeeded more times than Bobby even knew about.

But not this time. He knew Cas was scheming this time—and he didn’t know what it was, but it probably related to _Dean_. He had been sneaking around the house, refusing to let Bobby use his computer, and making phone calls. Bobby wasn’t dumb—he knew what he was doing. After his little “passive resistance” act in the doorway to Bobby’s bedroom, Cas had started getting…inventive in his ploys to get to go with Dean on hunts. Cas would plan and arrange things just like he wanted, drumming up two cases that would require them to split up with him going with Dean, or find ways to keep Sam occupied so he would have to take his place on the job—hell, Bobby was almost ready to blame Cas for the bout of “food poisoning” that had kept Sam grounded the last time Cas and Dean went out on a hunt together. The little shit would always make sure that the three of would have absolutely no choice but to go along with whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was to go out with Dean. It didn’t really matter that Bobby had relented and let up on that—no, he was convinced that he had to pull puppet strings to get his way, even almost a year after Bobby’d let up his house arrest.

Cas was probably _enjoying_ it, the turd.

Bobby was half-determined not to go along with it this time, no matter what his plot was. Bobby had to admit—throwing a spanner in Cas’s works was highly appealing. The only problem with that was that Cas had wised up that Bobby wasn’t quite as dumb as he thought—and so these days the punk would have two or three backup plans waiting in case the first one fell through. It took quite a bit of effort to really screw up plans Cas had set into motion, and truth be told, Bobby was getting a little too old to keep up with him.

Really, Bobby’d be less annoyed with all of the manipulation if it wasn’t always just so Cas could go off and have sex. But that’s what it was always for these days, and Bobby always knew it, and that was just…wrong.

Sighing again, he opened his eyes and hove himself into a sitting position. Sitting around wasn’t going to make him wake up any faster, so it was time to get up. He glanced over at the clock and saw that it was a little past six—slept for three hours. No wonder he felt like crap. Food’d help with that, though.

When he opened the door to go out into the hallway, he stopped—what the hell was _that_? Did he smell…chocolate? He sniffed again—yeah. He smelled chocolate. Frowning, he made his way down the hall and to the stairs, and now he could hear Cas doing the dishes. He made his way downstairs and rounded the corner, and froze in the doorway to the kitchen.

The first thing he saw was the chocolate cake on the counter. He could tell from how tall it was that it was a double-decker, covered in thick swirls of frosting. Then he saw the two plates on the table. Both of them had fat, juicy steaks on them, along with what Bobby guessed were foil-wrapped potatoes. There was a green salad between the two in the middle of the table. A six-pack of Bobby’s favorite beer was on one side, and there was a blue box on the other.

“What in the hell is this?” he blurted out, staring at everything.

Cas jumped, turning around and spotting him immediately. “Oh, hello, Bobby—I was about to come get you,” he said, turning off the water and grabbing a towel to dry off.

“That…doesn’t answer my question. What is this? Why are you spendin’ money on steak dinners and chocolate cake?!” he demanded.

“It’s for you,” Cas said simply. “It’s the twentieth of June. Humans typically observe today as Father’s Day, where they honor their fathers.” He twisted the dishtowel in his hands, looking slightly bashful. “You've said that you consider me a son—and even though God is my creator, I consider you to be my real father…so I wanted to celebrate the day in your honor.”

And then he looked expectantly up at Bobby, waiting for a reply.

Bobby blinked at Cas and the spread on the table. Then he blinked more rapidly, turning away.

“Are you all right?” Cas asked, sounding concerned.

“ _I’m fine!_ ” Bobby said sharply. “I—got something in my eye, dammit.” He cursed internally when he sniffed. “And allergies—pollen.”

“Yes, the weather channel said that it was high today. Would you like some of my sinus medication?” Cas offered helpfully.

“ _No_ ,” Bobby growled, “I’ll just—it’s fine.” He took a steadying breath and surreptitiously swiped a hand at his eyes and then turned around again. “It’s great, Cas. Really. Thanks.”

Cas looked ridiculously pleased, the dumbass. “Would you like to open your present now or after dinner?” he asked.

“After. I’m hungry,” Bobby replied, and so Cas slid into his seat and looked patiently at Bobby, waiting for him to do the same.

And he did—after taking a brief detour to ruffle Cas’s hair.

_Stupid angel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as Bobby adopted Sam and Dean, they will still always be John’s boys. But Cas is all Bobby’s.


	6. Roadside Repair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set around “[Bad Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1150387/chapters/2356734)”. “[Burned](http://archiveofourown.org/works/956334/chapters/1886911)” was not a one-off, folks, as you can see.

Goddammit. Why didn’t Cas have a sense of humor? He was _how_ many years into his new body now? He should’ve grown one by this point! If not a sense of humor, why couldn’t he grow a _pair_ instead, and stop acting like a huge _woman_ all the fucking time? Yeah, brain freeze wasn’t _pleasant_ , but it wasn’t worth having a complete _bitchfit_ over. It wasn’t like he’d stuck another pepper or something into Cas’s Slurpee.

They’d stopped off to fill up the Impala after driving home from a dud hunt, and while they were there, Cas had been intrigued by the piña colada flavor. Of course he would be. So he’d bought one, and he’d been slowly sucking it down, and Dean had decided to have a little fun. _Fun_ , that was all, he wasn’t doin’ it to be mean! He’d just told Cas he’d better drink it fast before it melted, so Cas had taken a huge pull off of it, and yeah, it’d been hilarious when he’d gone all squinty with a brain freeze and nearly threw his cup out the window. But the second Dean had started laughing, Cas had given him that _look_. Dean recognized _that_ look.

Now here they were, forty-five minutes later, Cas finished with his Slurpee, and he hadn’t said a single word the whole time. He’d been staring out the window, his arms folded tightly across his chest, and his jaw set.

Fuck. Cas was settling in for a _long haul_.

Dammit, it was just brain freeze! What the hell was so friggin’ bad about that?! Fine, Dean had taken his punishment for the pepper incident, and he’d taken it for the time he’d dropped ice cubes down Cas’s shirt, and he’d even taken it for the time he’d been caught out as the one stealing all of Cas’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch and blaming it on Bobby. But this one? Now Cas was just being fuckin’ stupid. He’d seen him and Sam in one of their prank wars and had more or less found it funny—hell, he’d even been _involved_ in a couple of practical jokes in his time. The little jerk _knew_ what a joke was.

And he could just get over it, dammit—time to end this nonsense and tell the little shit to suck it up.

Dean cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the road. “What—so you couldn’t handle a little brain freeze?” he began. “You’ve had _way_ worse. What the hell is your problem?”

Silence.

“I know they barely last a couple seconds, so quit bein’ all pissy like I stuck a bunch of habaneros in there or something. You’re fine.”

Nothing.

“For fuck’s sake, Cas, it was a _joke_!”

Dean risked a glance next to him; Cas hadn’t moved.

Dear _God_ , why was Cas such a giant girl?!

Dean was half tempted to let Cas just sit over there and stew—Dean didn’t wanna deal with this shit. He didn’t want to deal with Cas’s Silent Treatment, he didn’t want to deal with Cas’s tantrum, and he didn’t want to deal with Cas _period_. He didn’t deserve this; had he or had he not hauled Cas’s sorry butt down here on this job and then dragged them both out into the goddamn Arizona desert and endured the fucking _blazing_ heat just so Cas could take a little hike and admire the completely boring, flat, sandy scenery?

But the moment he’d almost resolved to ignore Cas back, he suddenly realized what he had to look forward to when he got home. Whenever Cas decided to lay siege, the two bitches waiting at Bobby’s place would just sit there and egg him on, grinning smugly the whole time, trying to draw everything out as best they could. And Cas wouldn’t relent; he never did. As much as it galled Dean to admit it, Cas’s angelic patience won out _every fucking time_ when they were fighting like this.

He didn’t want to deal with Sam and Bobby. And there was only one thing that could make Cas stop being such a _bitch_.

Growling to himself, he slowed down, pulling the car over until they were stopped on the side of the road.

“Cas, come on, I—I didn’t know you were gonna be such a pussy, okay?” he started, and of course, Cas still said nothing. He hadn’t even reacted when Dean had pulled over. _Fuck you_ , he snarled internally. “It’s a _joke_ , okay? It’s just a joke—I did it to Sam when he was little, too. Hell, we used to try and get brain freezes together just to—I dunno, to show off or something. It’s just—that kind of thing.”

Dean had no idea why, but any time Cas found out that Dean did something to Sam first, he’d unbend a little. Fine—Dean would run with that. “So just—just relax, would you? I’m—” Yeah, Cas was waitin’ for it. Dean knew he wouldn’t look at him until he said it. So, with a huff, Dean said, “Sorry, okay?”

Cas nodded, but Dean could tell he was still pissy. He wouldn’t be completely ignoring him, but he’d still be givin’ him the Silent Treatment for a while longer, and for some reason, Dean could not stand it when that was happening in the _car_. He didn’t know if it was the close quarters or what, but he hated it.

_Goddammit, Cas._

Dean shifted uncomfortably, glancing around surreptitiously. A look down that way showed no cars; same thing down the other direction. No cars, no drifting hobos—not even any nosey animals that he could see.

They were…alone. And it was dark…

Cas looked at Dean when he moved, finally, sliding his arm across the seat behind Cas and scooting closer. The second he started pulling Cas towards him, Cas practically melted, all traces of his funk instantly vanishing, and he was entirely responsive when Dean pressed a soft kiss against his mouth.

One became more, of course, because you could never just stop at _one_ —he never could when he’d been with women, so of course he couldn’t with Cas. Cas reached up to pet his face, and normally, Dean would find a way to make him stop that crap, but he was doing all of this in the first place just to pacify the bitchy angel, so he let him do it.

 _I can’t believe I’m doing this_ , he thought to himself even as he opened his mouth at Cas’s invitation. _I’m making out with Cas on the side of the road._

The thought made him pause; he pulled Cas more firmly against him to cover for the fact that he’d opened his eyes to look around again to make sure they were completely alone. Still nothing, so he went back to light, pretty chaste kisses, which Cas was fine with.

He _still_ couldn’t believe he’d pulled over to make out with Cas. He knew that’s what it was—if he’d just been intending to simply _apologize_ , in and out, he wouldn’t have stopped. He couldn’t deny it—he’d pulled over to give Cas a quick make out by way of apology.

Emphasis on the quick part. He gave Cas one more kiss—making it deep so it counted—before pulling away. Cas looked starry-eyed and content, so Dean knew he’d derailed a siege. No chance of that happening now— _good._

Coughing a little, he restarted the car and cranked his music loud, pulling back out onto the road and continuing their journey home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s always how it goes. Dean does something like this, and Cas immediately declares that Dean is dead to him. Then Dean kisses him and he forgets it ever happened.


	7. Food for Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place after “[No One Like You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1349458/chapters/2897818)”.

Dean was in a damn fine mood.

It wasn’t just because he’d pretty much single-handedly taken care of the case—though he had, and that ruled. It’d been him to do all of the talkin’ to the witnesses, and then it was very simple matter of torching the right bones—which Cas had helped a _little_ on, he’d admit, with the digging and all. So rarely did things work out that well. But it had, and there had been no problems at all. Quick and easy ghost hunt.

But really, it wasn’t just the case that had him whistlin’ Dixie. And what pushed this hunt right into awesome territory wasn’t just being the conquering hero either: it was the _reason_ he’d been the conquering hero. And that was because Cas had been near useless from the get-go.

Normally, that’d piss him off. Cas was the one who’d been all eager to go on a hunt in the first place. However, Dean had quickly put the pieces together right after they’d questioned the owner of that bakery. She’d been the ghost in question’s sister, and had been the one to supply the necessary info on why her brother might be violent—angry in life, angry in death, it turned out, ‘specially when suicide was involved. But the whole time Dean had been asking the questions, he’d noticed that Cas was…quiet. And he kept sneakin’ looks at Dean the whole time, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.

At first, Dean’d been mad about that—what the fuck was he doing? Nothing, that’s what, except _eyeing him_ in public, which wasn’t allowed. But then he’d connected the dots mid-question and had wound up stuttering over himself.

Cas had been _really_ eager to go with Dean on a hunt, hadn’t he? More eager than usual.

Ah. So that was it.

Dean had quickly shuttled them out of the bakery, ready to get this case done and over because it didn’t matter he’d been sizing him up in front of other people—the idea that Cas was so damn horny for Dean that he was getting distracted from work was…strangely on-turning, and Dean wanted things to be done so he could _really_ enjoy himself. Because it was guaranteed to be awesome—Cas always went all out when he was hard up.

Bones were quickly burned that evening, Cas confirmed with his ghost-vision that it had taken care of business, and now here they were back at the motel with the whole night to themselves.

This was gonna rock.

Dean shrugged out of his jacket, smirking over at Cas as he did. Cas kept giving him little looks, like he wanted to ask something but wasn’t sure if he should. _Really, Cas?_ But hey, Dean’d let it slide—after all, that _coy_ routine of his always got Dean goin’.

“So,” Dean started, dropping his jacket in a chair, and popping his neck, “you were kinda distracted today.”

Cas stared at his hands, fiddling pointlessly with the fliers on the table. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Eh, don’t be,” Dean said, leaning against the table. “But you were pretty quiet at that bakery.”

Cas looked furtively at him, and that just made something in his chest do a slow, lazy roll and started heat simmering in his belly. Dean bounced his eyebrows at him and gave him a grin. “Your mind was so on somethin’ else. Truth be told, I kinda started thinking of it too while we were there. It’s been a while—you had the right idea.”

Cas was now looking ridiculously pleased and hopeful, and it made Dean want to just laugh at him. “So,” he continued, about to step forward and start this party, “‘cause we—well, _I_ —did a job well done, I think we both deserve a little somethin’ nice, huh?”

Cas nodded eagerly. “Yes—so we’ll go back tomorrow morning?”

Dean’s grin kind of froze on his face. “What?” he asked blankly.

“To the bakery,” Cas clarified immediately. “The hours were only eight through two, so it’s closed now. But even if it was open, I’d rather we go back tomorrow. The cinnamon rolls will be fresher in the morning.”

_…Cinnamon rolls?_

“I’ll buy them,” Cas added. “It’s only right—you did most of the work, as you said. I’m sorry I was distracted—but you know how good they smelled.”

_He…was thinkin’ about_ food _that whole fucking time. That’s why he was useless. Because of a goddamn_ cinnamon roll _._

Didn’t matter that he’d had worse buckets of cold water—that was completely intolerable. He’d just been—he’d just been cockblocked by _Cas_. Cas was so stupid he hadn’t gotten the fucking message because he was— _fucking_ food _, dammit!_

“Yeah. Great. Whatever,” Dean muttered, stomping past him and not bothering to avoid bumping him roughly in the shoulder as he went. He went straight to the bathroom, irritably shucking his clothes and turning on the shower. He paused, and then, as loud as he could manage, very deliberately locked the door.

_There—think about your stupid_ food _out there by yourself._

* * *

Okay. Dean’d been pissed at Cas before, but now that little shit was gonna _get it_ when he got back from wherever it was he’d run off to.

Bad enough that he’d spent the whole night pouting because Dean had refused to talk with him and had made him sleep in his own bed, but now, Dean wakes up and finds Cas and _the car_ gone? That was _it_.

He’d almost called him and told him to get his ass right back here now and to never touch his baby again, but eventually his desire to not speak to Cas had won out. He’d yell at him when he got back—better face-to-face anyway. He _knew better_ than to take the car without asking. Okay, so he sometimes did and Dean didn’t care, but he should know when _not_ to!

Irritably, Dean glanced at the clock again. Where in the hell _was_ he that was taking so long?!

_Speak of the devil._ His jaw clenched when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala, and he resisted the urge to charge out there and just have it out with him in the parking lot. No, he’d wait. He stood still in the middle of the room, his arms tightly folded over his chest.

When the door swung open, Cas spotted him immediately, hesitating only a little when he saw Dean’s glare. “Good morning, Dean,” he finally said, closing the door with his free hand, the other weighted down with two sacks.

“Where the hell did you go? And why didn’t you tell me you were takin’ the car?!” Dean demanded immediately.

Cas blinked at him after he locked up. “You were asleep. I left a note,” he answered meekly, pointing to the table.

“Well—I didn’t see it,” Dean grunted, and that was true—though he saw it _now_ , sitting there on the table where Cas had gestured. But it didn’t fucking matter—a note was not permission. Dean opened his mouth to ask again, but Cas spoke before he could.

“I went to the bakery,” he said, opening up the first sack, and Dean finally noticed the big cupcake on the front—same one that had been painted on the sign hanging out front.

_Oh, duh—of_ course _the little monkey-spank would run off to his precious bakery_ , Dean mentally sneered, and then gave him a real one for good measure.

“I bought you a cinnamon roll,” Cas continued, pulling out two enormous clear clamshells, both of which were stuffed full of cinnamon rolls the size of dinner plates. “And I picked up some orange juice.”

“Isn’t that just _great_ ,” Dean said flatly. He uncrossed his arms, pulling in a breath and preparing to finally give Cas what he deserved—a loud cussing-out and some death threats to _never_ take the Impala without asking—

“I also stopped by the Lion’s Den.”

It really didn’t speak well for anybody that Cas had managed to lock Dean up twice in two days. “Say what?” he managed after a second.

“The Lion’s Den,” Cas repeated. “I bought two lubricants we’ve never used before and some of those Okamoto condoms you like.”

Dean just stared at the two little bottles in Cas’s hands. One of them was standard fare—though it did have a stupid name. “Frisky for Him?” Dean’d be ashamed to be seen in public with that. The other, though, was Cleanstream. Dean knew that one—Cas hadn’t ever used it, but Dean had with a chick once. That was for anal.

And he’d bought Dean’s favorite condoms.

Dean coughed. “Yeah. That’s, uh…that’s great, Cas. Why don’t you—” He cleared his throat again. “Why don’t you set us up for breakfast, I gotta call the front desk for a sec.”

Cas nodded, looking big-eyed and hopeful at him as he setting his little purchases over on the nightstand before drifting to the table where the food was.

_There’s nothing wrong with askin’ for an extra day_ , Dean thought to himself as he dialed the front. _Wasn’t like I called Sam and Bobby yesterday to tell ‘em we’d finished._

So there.


	8. Through Our Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Mervin here—some of you have probably noticed we haven’t updated in a while. Well, that’s my fault. I will just come right out and say it—I have writer’s block.
> 
> I do. I am currently sitting on about five unfinished projects for the series, and none of them are getting done because I stare at them and write maybe a sentence or two, declare it crap, and delete it. And unfortunately, the final chapter for “[Patience](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1285513)” was conceived after the fic was already in progress, rather than our usual “wait until it’s complete before we post,” with the end result being that you guys have been left hanging. The main problem is that I’m currently absorbed with another project totally unrelated to this or any other fanfiction; I’m hoping once it gets done, I will be able to go back to this. However, that doesn’t do much for you guys. As such, even though we still have that one chapter left on “Patience” and really wanted to get it posted before we did any other asides, Mrs. Hyde and I both decided that simply sitting around with no updates at all wasn’t nice and so are giving you this short one.
> 
> And yes, it is short—and worse yet, it’s not pleasant. This is one of those asides that has been requested of us. A while back, a couple of people said that they wanted to see what was going on in Dean’s head in “[Coming Back to Life](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1041215/chapters/2078418)” while Castiel was in the hospital. Well, upon prompting, I just sat down and wrote this little ditty. It’s when Dean gets to see Cas after his first surgery and waiting period, back when they still don’t know if he’s going to be okay and he has yet to wake up.
> 
> Again, my apologies on the delay—this is why Hyde and I never post WIPs if we can help it, but we’ll try to get things up and running as soon as we can and get back to nice, fluffy D/C love and Amy/Cas sibling goodness.
> 
> Mervin

_Set during “Coming Back to Life”_

The ventilator hissed quietly with every shallow rise of Cas’s chest. The machines surrounding him steadily beeped. Some doctor got paged over the intercom.

Dean didn’t hear it.

He stared down at the unmoving shape lying in the hospital bed in front of him, his chest and throat so tight he couldn’t breathe.

He’d only felt this fucking helpless once before in his entire life—the night the Devil took his little brother and was going to end the world.

But even then, Dean had _done_ something. Whenever Sam had—had been near death or possessed or even _been_ dead, Dean could…could fucking _do_ something. He _had_ done something. There were deals he could make. He knew people. He knew _monsters_. He knew _Sam_. There was always someone or some _thing_ or some fucking way he could find that would fix things. Sure, it’d cost him, but it didn’t matter. Not to him.

There was nobody he could go to now. There was nothing he could do. Not for—not for Cas. 

“Cas,” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. Unconsciously, he reached down and found Cas’s icy hand, not squeezing his fingers, but just touching him. “Why did—”

Dean trembled, squeezing his eyes shut and bowing his head, wanting to scream. Because he knew _why_ —he knew why Cas was here. There was a reason—because _someone_ had to be here, apparently. If not Cas, then _Sam_. That’s who the fucking bitch had been aiming at. She’d been going for _Sammy_ , and Dean had been holding his dick and hadn’t stopped her, and so Cas had to do it. And Cas had, had saved Sam, taken the hit for him, at the cost of his own—

_No._

“Cas,” he managed again, opening his eyes, blinking furiously. “Cas…don’t.” He scrubbed a hand furiously over his face, barely aware of the wetness he wiped away. “ _Don’t_ ,” he repeated, his voice thick. “Don’t do this.”

He let Cas’s hand go, leaning heavily on the bed rail, because his knees felt weak. He looked back up at Cas’s slack face, and there was absolutely no sign of awareness there, no sign of life. He looked—he looked fucking _dead_ —

He wasn’t dead. _Cas wasn’t fucking dead._

He’d watched Cas die twice before. He couldn’t take it again. Not now—not this time, because he—because they—

Cas couldn’t die. He _couldn’t_. Not like this.

“Please don’t do this,” he whispered helplessly. “Please. You—you can’t. You can’t do this to me. _Don’t do this to me._ ”

The only answer was the hiss of the machines.


	9. Dysfunction Junction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has never happened to him before...
> 
> A little ficlet set after "[The Second Coming](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3358097/chapters/7814645)" and "[Penthouse Forum](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3358097/chapters/7839197)."
> 
> Mrs. Hyde

Yeah, this was what Dean was talking about.

Hitting the road for a month or so, nice and easy cases the whole time, saving the day and stickin’ it to any supernatural shit that tried to start something, and then rollin’ on into the old homestead for a fat burger, a couple of frosty beers, and then to round out the evening, going to bed for a little foolin’ around with the angel.

Sometimes his life didn’t suck _quite_ so bad.

They were both on their sides, their legs all tangled together under the sheets, hands everywhere, and Dean was currently showing Cas just who could stick whose tongue further down whose throat. Cas was wiggling against him, and all his squirming meant that he kept rubbing all kinds of soft angel-skin against Dean’s hard-on, and that was just pretty damn great.

Dean jumped a little when Cas suddenly bit his lip—oh, so that was his game, was it? Well, fine, if that’s how he wanted it. Dean snaked his arms around to grip his ass good and tight and then pulled him right up close, grinding his hips forward. And Cas answered in kind, grabbing his shoulders and humping up against his thigh.

Dean had been planning on rolling Cas on his back so he could get his dick between his thighs, but the way Cas’s hips were speeding up made him think he might not make it—looked like Cas wanted a frot.

Or maybe it was Cas who wanted Dean’s thighs, because he was bearing him down on his back, his hips thrusting harder and faster, his kisses taking on a wild quality.

 _Damn, Cas_ , Dean thought, vaguely alarmed as Cas started making whimpering noises into his mouth, grinding down as he humped him, his motions getting more and more frantic.

Cas was whining now, gripping Dean around his shoulders and kissing him so hard he could hardly breathe, riding him so hard he was practically bucking, and Dean had had enough. “ _Cas_ —” he gasped, breaking away, and opened his eyes to see Cas looking down at him with wide, panicky eyes.

“Dean, I _can’t_ —” he panted, his voice whistling, and one looked as his flushed, frightened face was enough to set all kinds of alarm bells ringing in Dean’s head.

“Cas, _what_ —” he started, grabbing his shoulders, but didn’t get a chance to finish when Cas cut him off with a sharp sobbing noise and rolled to the side to rip the sheet off of them both.

“ _Hey!_ ” Dean yelled, reflexively grabbing the sheet and yanking it back up in stupid, pointless modesty, which just pissed him off when he thought about it. But like hell he was gonna lie there and let Cas freaking _watch_ while he humped Dean’s leg.

But the reality was so, so much worse, because Cas suddenly stopped with the humping and then reached down and _grabbed his own dick_ and started wildly jerking off.

“Cas, what the _hell_?!” Dean demanded, only for Cas to keep flogging it like crazy, his movements frantic, and when he looked up at Dean, he was shocked to see that Cas looked fucking near _tears_ —

“Dean!” he shrilled, his breathing panicky and gasping as he kept yanking it. “I can’t— _I can’t achieve an erection!_ ”

_…Oh my God._

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean barked sharply when he finally snapped out of his stunned silence. He grabbed Cas’s arm and pulled it away from where he was gripping his dick—he had to stop that or he was gonna hurt himself. “ _Stop_ that!”

Cas’s breath was starting to whistle. “But—but _Dean_ —”

“ _Cas._ Calm. The fuck. _Down_ ,” Dean said firmly. He kept his grip on Cas’s wrists—both of them—and stared him down until he wasn’t trying to goddamn hyperventilate anymore. “Now, I’m gonna let you go, and you keep your hands _off_ your junk, you hear me?” he said sternly.

Cas nodded, still blinking furiously and snuffling.

After staying tense for a moment, waiting to see if Cas lost it again, Dean let out a long breath and sagged back into his pillows. “Jesus _Christ_ , Cas—what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t _know_!” he wailed, his hands twitching like was trying to reach down there again, but he kept them clenched together in a white-knuckled grip.

“Not _that_ , you dumbass!” Dean groaned. “I got that—but it’s nothing to completely lose your shit over!”

“ _Yes it is!_ ” God, he was two seconds away from full-on blubbering. “I can’t—I’m _impotent_ , Dean! I have _erectile dysfunction_ —I can’t have sex with you any more—!”

“Oh, shut _up_ , Cas!” Dean yelled. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You don’t—you don’t have fucking _ED_ , for Christ’s sake! You just—you’re just not feelin’ it tonight, is all.”

Cas was shaking his head. “No—I _always_ want you, Dean,” he insisted miserably, making Dean roll his eyes to try and cover the uncomfortable flush on his face, “I want you right now—but this has never happened before, and I can’t—”

“Shut up,” Dean said flatly. Cas shut up, but still looked just about as pathetic as Dean had ever seen him. He rubbed at the sides of his nose before finally asking, “Cas, how old are you?”

Cas blinked. “I—it’s difficult to estimate my age based on the circuit of his planet around its star—,” he started.

“Not the angel, Cas,” Dean growled in frustration. “Your _body_. Your vessel.”

“Oh.” He looked slightly puzzled, but swallowed and gamely answered. “Given Jimmy Novak’s date of birth and the time that it didn’t age when I was possessing it while at full angelic capacity, I would guess…forty-nine years.”

“Right. Same age as me.” Dean’s mouth tightened, and forced himself to say it. “Right in fucking middle age, Cas.”

Cas clearly didn’t get it, and Dean growled under his breath. “When you’re that old,” he tried again, “sometimes you just…don’t. It doesn’t mean you have goddamn ED, either—just sometimes you…don’t feel it.”

Despite being briefly distracted by the age question, Cas’s eyebrows were tilting down again and his eyes were going shiny. “But it’s never happened to me _before_ —”

“So _what_ , Cas?” Dean snarled. “It happened to you now—it happens to everybody!” He clenched his jaw. “It—it’s fucking happened to _me_ before, all right?!”

Cas went very still. “It has?” he asked breathily.

Dean glowered at him, deliberately ignoring the awful heat in his face. “Yeah—there have been nights where I just—didn’t. And I’m _fine_ ,” he said forcefully. “Got it up and everything tonight, didn’t I?” Cas nodded— _idiot._ “You just—it just _happens_ , man. You can’t get all freaked out and obsessed with it, though, or else it _will_ mess you up. Just—just don’t freak out and don’t worry and you’ll be fucking _fine_.”

Cas nodded again, licking his lip a little. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he finally said, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Like I said—just forget it.”

Cas chewed his lip and looked away. “I—I’m sorry I ruined the evening too, Dean. I—I wanted to please you, but I can’t.”

Dean just shook his head, rolling his eyes, but a stray thought snuck in his head and he couldn’t help but snort. Yeah, what with Cas being scared of chicks, he wouldn’t know some of these things. “Yeah, guess you would’ve never heard of ‘Blowjob Week,’ would you,” he said, trying to lighten the mood a little. Cas’s quizzical look just made him snort, so it seemed to be working, at least for himself. “You know where the—uh, well, just ‘cause one person can’t, uh, participate, doesn’t mean they can’t get the other person off.”

Cas stared, and then his eyes went wide and his face lit up—and Dean had just a brief second to realize that his joking had been a mistake before Cas was yanking off the blankets again and went diving for his goods.

“Hey!” he yelled, but Cas was already working his cock, his eyes big and pleading, and Dean didn’t even bother struggling, just gave up.

What the hell. Would get him to chill out, anyway.

* * *

“Dean.”

Dean hated it when Cas woke him up in the mornings—because his strategy was to just sit there and whisper his name over and over in his ear until he more or less _annoyed_ him awake.

Irritated, he reached up to swat Cas away from his ear where he’d been breathing on him. He turned his head to squint over at the clock—it was only nine, but it could be worse. He turned back the other way to see Cas looking just about as rumpled and bleary as he felt—so he’d just woken up too—but his eyes were sparkling.

“What, Cas?” Dean rasped.

Cas cuddled in close, petting Dean’s shoulder. “You were right, Dean,” he murmured happily. 

And then Dean became suddenly aware of the boner rubbing against his hip.

“I can still achieve an erection.”

Dean groaned and ground his hands against his face, before just letting out a huge, gusty sigh. “I told you you could, numbnuts,” he said tiredly. “Now lemme take care of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, despite the fact that this whole fic series has been nothing but an ode to Dean’s issues and insecurities about the whole Teh Ghey thing…we’ve always envisioned him being quite stunningly cool and secure about his own personal sexuality, particularly things that would send a lot of straight guys screaming into the night (pegging, admitting that he liked wearing ladies underwear, the occasional loss/lack of erection, etc). That being the case, it was a lot of fun writing Dean as the level-headed one for a change, being cool and explaining the situation to Cas without all the usual drama, and him just being a good boyfriend to boot.


End file.
